


The South Arkansas Vine Ripe Pink Tomato

by Savoytruffle



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Banter, Comedy, Logic, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-14
Updated: 2010-02-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 14:26:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savoytruffle/pseuds/Savoytruffle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock thinks the doctor should spank the captain. The doctor thinks he needs another drink. I’m not sure what the captain thinks, but it works out well for him in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The South Arkansas Vine Ripe Pink Tomato

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://km-anthology.livejournal.com/profile)[**km_anthology**](http://km-anthology.livejournal.com/) for the prompt 'spanking.' Thanks to [](http://cordelianne.livejournal.com/profile)[**cordelianne**](http://cordelianne.livejournal.com/) for her encouragement and to [](http://graceandfire.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://graceandfire.livejournal.com/)**graceandfire** for her usual super-speedy beta!

“Excuse me?”

“Are you experiencing difficulties with your hearing, Doctor? Perhaps you should allow Dr. M’Benga to examine your aural canals?”

Some people think that Spock is perfectly earnest at all times and completely without a sense of humor, but McCoy knows that’s bullshit.

He’s a supercilious, sardonic son of a bitch, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

Frankly, McCoy can respect that.

But he sure as hell doesn’t have to let it show.

“I should have M’Benga examine your goddamn head, is what I should do.”

“I assure you, Doctor, I am in full possession of my mental faculties.”

McCoy has serious doubts about that. “You just suggested that I _spank_ the captain.”

“I did,” Spock confirms. “It is both the most efficient course of action and the most efficacious.”

McCoy knows he’s going to regret not kicking Spock out of his office right now, but, “You want to run that one by me again?”

“Over the course of the six months since our mission began, I have been observing the captain closely.”

“I’ll bet you have…”

“I have concluded that he suffers from a chronic neurobiological disorder with respect to high risk situations, characterized by an intoxication-like response, typically following, but often during, such encounters, which has lead to impaired impulse control with respect to hazardous conditions when they arise and even to the seeking out of adverse circumstances when they are not naturally present.”

McCoy rolls his eyes. “So Jim’s an adrenaline junkie. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Actually, Doctor, I am more concerned with his endorphin levels. As you are no doubt aware, in Terran vertebrates, the pituitary gland and the hypothalamus produce endorphins during exercise, excitement, pain, consumption of spicy food and orgasm."

“So why don’t you go see the mess chef and get her to add a little more Tabasco to Jim’s diet?”

“I did consider that approach,” Spock informs him. “However, my proposed plan of action—”

“Me spanking the captain,” McCoy reminds them both as he pulls a bottle of Kentucky’s finest from the bottom drawer of his desk and pours himself a healthy dose.

“—does possess additional benefits.”

McCoy takes a fortifying sip and resigns himself to seeing the conversation through to its conclusion. “Oh, do tell.”

“It has also come to my attention that, while he possesses an exceptionally high regard for the lives and livelihood of his crew and indeed of all the non-hostile races of the universe, the captain is wont to demonstrate a near complete disregard for his own safety and physical well being.”

“You don’t say.”

Spock nods. “Human child psychologists have proven conclusively that the use of discipline to set limits for children and correct their misbehavior not only helps them to develop their self-control but teaches them their own value and demonstrates to them that they are cared for.”

“The captain is not a child.”

“That is true. And yet I would note that I have witnessed you calling the captain an ‘infant’ on more than one occasion.”

“Point,” McCoy concedes, pausing for another, longer sip of his bourbon. “Okay, suppose I actually _believed_ that Jim needs to be spanked…” In for a penny, as they used to say, in for a pound. “Why me?”

“I am given to understand that you and the captain enjoy a personal relationship of the sort colloquially classified as ‘friends with benefits.’”

“You’re ‘given to understand,’” McCoy repeats.

“Yes, Doctor. I believe you have requested that I refrain from ever mentioning the occasion on which I dis—”

“Spock?” McCoy interrupts.

“Doctor?” Spock queries.

“Reminding me that I told you never to bring it up again _counts_ as bringing it up again.”

“Duly noted.”

“Look, just because Jim and I…” McCoy has no intention of finishing his sentence. He waves the hand not clutching his tumbler of bourbon.

Spock apparently takes this as his cue to continue. “Nyota has informed me that, according to Terran custom, where both parties involved are of their majority, the administration of discipline both reaches its maximum physical intensity and enjoys its greatest social acceptance when performed within the confines of a consensual sexual relationship.”

“She told you that, did she?”

“Indeed. Nyota has also speculated that, while you appear to come from a rather conventional social background and are certainly not given to the overt displays of sexual prowess sometimes favored by the captain, your role in private sexual encounters may, in fact, be of a rather aggressive nature.”

McCoy thinks he could stand to know a whole lot less about Spock and _Nyota’s_ pillow talk.

Also, his glass of bourbon and the bottle it came from are both empty.

It makes him want to weep.

He looks longingly at his abandoned PADD with its nice, easy medical reports and requisition requests.

“Please tell me we’re done here.”

“I suspect that Nyota would judge me remiss in my efforts if I failed to suggest to you that, aside from your professional responsibilities with respect to the captain’s physical and mental health and your commitment to the success of this mission, your participation in this course of action may offer a certain level of personal catharsis.”

“Come again?”

“I believe her exact words were, ‘Before you let him turn you down, remind him how exasperating Jim gets and ask him if he’s really never thought about just beating that scrawny ass.’”

McCoy has to admit, the woman makes a good point.

He reaches over and picks up his PADD, looking at the screen instead of Spock when he says, “Thank you, Commander. I’ll consider it.”

“Thank _you_ , Doctor,” Spock says. “We are, as you say, done here.”

 _Damn right._ McCoy doesn’t look up until the door hisses shut behind him.

 

 

 

The thing is, talking to Spock can do things to a man. You go into the conversation feeling perfectly levelheaded and come out of it convinced a tomato is a fruit instead of a vegetable.

See, there’s logic and then there’s common sense.

And McCoy knows which side he’s on.

So, once a good night’s sleep has returned to him the measure of good sense God gave a box of tulip bulbs, McCoy abandons any notion of spanking Jim.

Despite frequent appearances to the contrary, Jim is, after all, a grown man.

And McCoy’s a doctor, dammit, not a dominant.

 

 

If there’s one thing McCoy knows for certain, it’s this – Spock is not always right.

And even if Spock’s so-called assessment of Jim’s…issues rings truer and truer the longer McCoy thinks on it, that certainly doesn’t recommend Spock’s ‘course of action.’

If anything, the professional thing to do would be to refer Jim to a good therapist.

Jim would go.

Really.

 

 

They just don’t have that kind of relationship.

Even if McCoy was the type to get a little aggressive between the sheets – and he’s not saying he is – it wouldn’t change the fact that games have never been part of his and Jim’s sex life.

It’s not that McCoy’s opposed to getting creative, or that he thinks Jim would be. It’s just that they’ve never needed to. They’re not married. They don’t share quarters. They don’t even spend more than maybe half their nights together.

Good old-fashioned fucking and sucking have always served them just fine.

So even if McCoy did want to spank Jim – and he’s not saying he does – it’s not like he’d really know how.

The mechanics are simple enough, sure: Apply flat of palm to curve of ass. Repeat as necessary.

It’s the opening that eludes him.

Every time he thinks about it – and he’s not saying that’s often – it’s like he can hear the cheesy porno music cueing up in the background.

This is real life.

Real, _professional_ life.

Vulcan logic or no, it’s not like you can just throw your commanding officer over the nearest flat surface and start tanning his hide until he begs for mercy.

McCoy may not be much for protocol, but he has more sense than that.

 

 

And then comes the away mission.

The away mission to a planet populated, McCoy had been assured, completely and solely by non-hostile beings – animal, vegetable and mineral.

The away mission on which Jim somehow manages to fall afoul of the normally mild-tempered indigenous equivalent of a domestic ferret.

McCoy never has trusted ferrets.

 _Still, it figures_ , he thinks, as he runs a regenerator over a score of surprisingly nasty cuts and bruises. _Leave it to Jim to beam down to a peaceful planet and get himself mauled by a goddamn **house pet**_.

“Enough,” McCoy declares.

“We’re done?” Jim asks, pushing himself up to sit on the edge of the biobed, legs swinging.

“ _I’m_ done.” McCoy drops the regenerator onto the bed. “C’mon.” He takes Jim by the elbow and yanks him to his feet, escorting him across the medbay and into McCoy’s office.

“Um, Bones?”

McCoy doesn’t answer, keeping hold of Jim’s arm as he waits for the door to slide shut behind them.

“Not that I _mind_ being manhandled…” Jim begins.

“Shut up,” McCoy says, now that he knows no one will hear them.

Jim laughs. “Just because the door’s closed doesn’t mean it’s not insubordination.”

“Over the desk,” McCoy says. “Pants down.”

“Then again,” Jim says, as he hastens to follow McCoy’s orders, “I’ve never been big on the chain of command.”

McCoy shakes his head and looks at Jim, bent over his desk, ass bared and ready to be fucked.

McCoy could do that.

He could try to fuck some sense into Jim.

But it’s not like that’s ever worked before.

McCoy steps forward, pulls his right arm back and then lets it fly. His palm lands with a loud crack. Jim’s whole body jolts.

“Ow! Bones! What the fuck?”

Jim’s hands shift on the desk as he goes to push himself to his feet, but McCoy moves quickly, placing his left hand in the center of Jim’s back and pressing down. Hard.

His right hand stings as it makes its second impact, this time against Jim’s other cheek.

Two more smacks and McCoy’s starting to find his rhythm. And his words.

“Look, Jim, this isn’t our first rodeo. You and I both know as well as anyone that the universe isn’t always a safe place. And god knows why, but you seem to have been blessed with an unusual talent for saving the day. And somehow I enjoy the dubious privilege of having followed you out here into the black for the express purpose of saving your ass whenever necessary.”

McCoy’s breath has grown heavy. He sucks in oxygen between blows.

“And I _will_ save your ass, Jim. When _necessary_. But I _refuse_ to be patching you up every day of the week and twice on Sundays. You’re not the only one in this goddamn tin can and a man’s gotta sleep.”

McCoy’s right hand starts to go numb, but Jim’s not struggling anymore, so he switches to his left.

“For the love of god, Jim, a fucking _house ferret_?”

And, yeah, Uhura had the right of it. He wants this. He needs this. It’s been coming for years.

“You need to save the day – you save the goddamn day. But the next time you’re wandering the ship or a planet, spoiling for some action because you’re ‘so bored I think I’m gonna cry, Bones,’ I’m telling you to rein it in.”

Jim is whimpering now and squirming again, but this time he’s pushing back into McCoy’s hand.

“You come to me and I’ll _give_ you something to cry about. And you’ll like it. Are we clear?”

Jim mumbles something but McCoy can’t hear it over the sound of flesh meeting flesh.

He pauses, hand drawn back and at the ready. “What was that, Jim?”

“Yes, sir,” Jim says.

McCoy’s arm falls to his side, Jim’s capitulation catching him by surprise and leaving him slightly aimless. “Alright, then,” he says.

Jim doesn’t move and, for a moment, McCoy doesn’t either, staring down at the mottled pink flesh of Jim’s ass. Without thinking, he reaches down to press his cooling right hand against its radiant heat.

“Um, Bones?”

Jim’s voice snaps McCoy out of his trance. His hand has begun to move in absent strokes.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think you could fuck me now?”

Yes, McCoy thinks he could. He steps forward, grabs some lube from his top desk drawer, and starts to prepare Jim for his cock.

_The administration of discipline both reaches its maximum physical intensity and enjoys its greatest social acceptance when performed within the confines of a consensual sexual relationship._

The words pop, unbidden and most definitely unwelcome, into his head.

Damn Vulcan.

McCoy did _not_ just spank Jim because Spock told him to.

And he sure as hell ain’t fucking Jim because it’s _logical_.

McCoy takes hold of Jim’s hips and pulls Jim back to meet his own forward thrust, proceeds to fuck Spock’s voice right out of his head.

McCoy has a few frustrations, Jim has a few issues, and neither one is the therapy type.

It just makes sense.

 

_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Botanically, a tomato is a fruit: the ovary, together with its seeds, of a flowering plant. However, the tomato is not as sweet as most foods eaten as fruit, and is typically served as part of a salad or main course of a meal, rather than at dessert. It is therefore considered a vegetable for most culinary purposes. In 1987, Arkansas took both sides by declaring the "South Arkansas Vine Ripe Pink Tomato" to be both the state fruit and the state vegetable in the same law, citing both its culinary and botanical classifications. (Thank you, Wikipedia!)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Member of the Nightshade Family](https://archiveofourown.org/works/799738) by [Savoytruffle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savoytruffle/pseuds/Savoytruffle)




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